


Twisted

by LigeiaMaloy



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Implied Incest, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaMaloy/pseuds/LigeiaMaloy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He admired his almost black hair that still looked full and rich despite the mask he wore every day and night, except the few minutes under the shower. He smiled as he moved closer, inspecting his eyes – clever, proud eyes of clear, steel blue, with a hint of silvery grey.<br/>Still smiling, he put on the mask, the very symbol that changed Alain into Spy. This time, all he had to do was to ignore the dark shadows under his eyes and he knew - his looks matched his skill in any aspect. </p><p>He was perfect."</p><p>Or so Alain, the Spy, thinks. When a visitor from the past interrupts his life, he might be forced to face something more disturbing than RED's rival Spy - himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted

What a pathetic, little man.  
  
„What the.. how... our defense, the security alert... this is impossible!" the small, scrawny man in front of him stammered, wiping drops of cold sweat from his forehead. With the end of his tie, as the Spy noticed.  
  
'Pathetic indeed.'  
  
His gun directed at the man's forehead; he subconsciously adjusted his own tie, although, of course, it wasn't necessary. As usual, his whole attire was spotless and perfect, the expensive, dark blue suit without a crinkle, and certainly not spoiled by disgusting stains of sweat.  
He felt slightly insulted by the pitiful, undignified stutter of this man of no importance. It was him, the Spy, and what the director of this company called a defense, a security alert was nothing to him, he had wished for a challenge, but disappointment again was all he got. True, the rest of his team was busy distracting the security guards, luring them away from the upper floors with their feigned attack – that kind of attack that involved loud noises and smoke and dirt. Neither _his_ taste nor style. Without half an army of brutes experienced to man to man combat the rest had been a mere play, a little game, hardly worth to be more than called a distraction.  
  
But it was work, and their work was paid well, so he didn't complain. Bored by the man's questions and whining he pulled the trigger and ended today's assignment with a straight, clean shot between the two small, piggish eyes – point blank. Carefully he checked his suit, nodding approvingly when he didn't find any blood on the fabric. An old habit. At this distance, fired by his favorite weapon, the bullet usually penetrated the skull, glided through the cerebral matter like a hot knife through butter, thoroughly severing neural canals from the central nerval system, and left the skull at the back of the head, leaving a clean passage of destruction. Only a few drops of thick blood oozed from the small bullet hole in the man's face, a spray of blood from the back of his skull couldn't be prevented, but this rarely affected his own clothes.  
  
He stepped up to the lifeless body, now sprawled on a distasteful, brownish carpet and took a look at the man's eyes. As it had to be expected - they were wide opened and as dead as the whole corpse. Another old habit, there was no reason for him to make sure his target was dead, he knew already, the very minute he fired his weapon. Always. He didn't fail. Never.  
Contented with his work, he put his gun away and left the room, ready to meet his teammates at their base. As usual, he didn't waste any time informing his superior about his success. He told him before, this would be a matter of 20 minutes. By now, the fool should know that the Spy didn't allow any room for misjudgment or mistakes. A look at his watch – 15 minutes had passed. Smiling to himself, he left the building through the front door without any disturbances. Maybe this time his judgment was five minutes off, his mistake – he was too modest, he should improve on that.  
  
* * *  
  
Later this evening he had sat down behind his desk. An old fashioned piece of furniture, dark and massive, in the style of the art noveau, more fitting to a scene of the 20s instead of the late 60s. He had always been rather fond of this kind of furnishing – he had sneered at the others when  they called his taste 'obsolete' – so the whole room was filled with those heavy, old pieces made of oak: His bed, the bookshelves, the two cupboards. Even the framework of his leather chair was adorned with polished oak wood. The massiveness and the dark color, plus the never more than half opened shutter gave the small room a rather gloomy atmosphere - not very much liked by the others. He, though, thought it dignified and calming, an atmosphere perfect for him to dwell on his thoughts, ideas and his favorite project.  
  
With a sigh, he opened the top drawer of his desk, took out a rectangular strongbox and opened it with the key he always wore under his shirt. He flipped through the documents that carried his own, straight handwriting, looked over and over again at small, precise sketches of a device not bigger than a pocket watch.  
The sudden, swooshing sound behind him he only commented with a resigning noise, not paying attention to the intruder at all.  
  
„Ah, you are still working on zis, mon cher Alain?" The footsteps of his uninvited guest came closer and the shadow of a man was cast over the only weakly illuminated top of the desk, making it hard to read.  
  
„Not you again. 'ow often did I tell you zat my name is Spy? Now, kindly leave me alone. Or give me back what belongs to moi." Today wasn't an exciting day, neither bad nor good, so his late visitor didn't aggravate him much, yet he wasn't too keen to argue with him. He put the documents back into the box and stowed it away in the drawer. Still refusing to turn around he took a cigarette from the small, metallic case he always carried in the inner pocket of his jacket and lightened it, not at all impressed by the man's watching eyes he felt resting on his hands.  
  
„Non, non, you are Alain Renouard, n'est-ce pas? Mon cher ami Alain, most outstanding Spy, charming, smart, en vogue..." The man behind him chuckled, putting his hands on the Spy's shoulders, lowering his head to the level of the sitting man's ear. „Skillful, swift, a master of your profession, known to be free of failure..."  
  
He brushed the hands away and took another pull of his cigarette, smiling. „You know, Red, I almost zought you were going to mock moi, but 'ow could you do zat, wiz words zat speak nozing but ze truz."  
  
„Oh Alain, you still insist on calling me wiz zat name. Zis saddens my 'eart, mon cher. I know who you are, why do you not call me by my real name?"  
  
Spy didn't need to see him to know how the man, who was dressed the same way he was, only in an ugly shade of red, reacted. Probably he had put his hands on his heart, the eyes gazing to heaven in pretended woe, fitting the sound of his voice. He sighed again, extinguished the cigarette in the dark-green, stony ashtray and opened a bottle of Cognac, pouring part of its contents in a wide glass.  
  
„I do not care what your real name is. You are Red, ze fraud, ze zief..." He stopped at the exclamation of protests and took a sip from the glass, savoring the smooth, rich taste on his tongue.  
  
„Alain, it is not my fault, non? When you do not take care of your most precious possession! We were des amis, dear Alain, why do you be'ave like zat?"  
  
„Ha!" He pulled a grimace as he watched the liquid amber in his glass, liking how it reflected the dim light. This discussion, once more. A daily routine by now, he almost felt like he would miss it if the other Spy wouldn't return evening by evening, pestering him, shoving his petty triumph in his face like a stinking, slimy old fish.  
  
„Well, Red, _mon ami_ , I bite. Because you pretended to be a friend. You offered to 'elp me wiz my invention, I was even willing to share wiz you. Eizer a copy of your own or, in case I decided to sell it, 'alf ze profit. And you betrayed me, stealing ze only working exemplar of ze cloaking device..." Lazily, he waved with his free hand while moving the glass to his lips again, his voice both bored and annoyed. The man behind him laughed.  
  
„You mean zhis, Alain?"  
  
The swooshing sound told him he wouldn't see anyone if he turned around now. Oh, how he hated this man. How could he ever go out of his way like this, being that gullible, to trust this man, just because he had reminded him of...  
  
„Chut, Alain! I 'ear someone coming!" a bodiless voice hushed from another corner of the room.  
  
The Spy turned around, facing the door, when he noticed the footsteps coming from the corridor. More than one person. They paused for few a seconds and he could hear them talk, but not make out their words. One voice belonged to the Soldier, the leader of their little group of mercenaries, assassins, killers, whatever others would call them. A superior he accepted only unwillingly, as the man was unworthy of the title, compared to himself. Then again he wouldn't want to bother with the rest of the team more than necessary, it was trying as it was most of the time anyway.  
The other voice was lower, and certainly didn't belong to his other teammates. Yet it sounded awfully familiar.  
  
„Come in, Monsieur Soldat," he answered the knock at the door rather generously, a tone the Soldier didn't like at all. The tall, bulky man growled an impolite reply the Spy only shrugged off.  
  
„What is your business wiz me, at zis late 'our of ze day? Anozer assignment?" Spy asked casually, the fingertips of both his hands pressed together, a gesture that emphasized his rather smug expression.  
  
Soldier swallowed another sharp answer, much to the dismay of Spy, who enjoyed provoking this man. One of the few guilty pleasures he would allow himself now and then, but obviously, the American wasn't in the mood to play along. Ah, too bad.  
  
„Spy, you have a visitor. An old acquaintance, as I came to understand. Misses Lewis, meet the Spy." He saluted, bowed slightly to the lady who entered the room at his words, and left, closing the door behind him.  
  
„So you go by ze name Lewis now. Shannon Lewis. 'ow nice." He saw no reason to change his pose, or to offer her a seat, but it didn't matter - this woman, as he could read it from her face, didn't expect any civil manners from him. Never had, since then, and being the man he was, he didn't mind at all.  
  
„Don't worry, Alain, I'm not thrilled to see you again as well." It was impossible to miss the sound of hatred and repulsion in her otherwise rather sweet and pleasant voice. Despite being in her late thirties she looked still young, as he noticed, although her eyes seemed a bit too old, even for her age, and the underlying shadows weren't very becoming to her. Dressed in expensive clothes, as usual, her countenance had always reminded him more of a fashion model than a mere secretary, but well. He knew she was a smart little thing, sharp and quick, both with her mind and tongue.  
  
„What do you want, Shannon, after all zese years?" he finally demanded to know, wondering if his other visitor was still present, if he smiled, very amused  by a little reunion, the first after five years.  
  
Still standing, not even moving away from the door, she glared at him, he could see the contempt in her face all too clearly.  
Finally, she sighed.  
„I need your help, Alain."  
  
This almost made up for missing his guilty pleasure with this numb nut of a Soldier. Not even trying to hide the glee he was feeling at her words he stood up, circled her, not saying a word, and stopped only a few inches in front of her face.  
  
„Mon dieu, ze proud, prim and proper Shannon, asking moi for 'elp," he chuckled. „What could it be, ma cherie, 'ow can a, uh, what were your words... no, don't 'elp me, let me zink." He rolled his eyes, his hand making a gesture like he wanted her to stop before she could even answer, pretending to think hard.  
„Ah! I got it!" With exaggerated triumph, he took a step back and took her white, thin hand in his gloved one, kissing the golden ring on her ring finger. „Cheap, filzy, manwhore, vermin, scum of 'umanity! Zose were your words Shannon. Whatever could 'ave 'appened zat you descended from your nice and clean world, asking a low-down bastard like me for 'elp?"  
  
For a second, they glared at each other, both of them refusing to avert the eyes, too proud and angry to give in, a battle of loathing. But after a while, the woman closed her eyes and shook her head, ignoring the Spy's gloating laughter.  
„I didn't come here to fight with you, Alain. It's... it's Alex..."  
  
Spy stopped laughing and stared at her.  
„So?" Most indifferently.  
  
„That's all you have to say? After five years? After what you've done to him? Don't you even have enough decency to ask how he is?" she flared up, but controlled herself again immediately.  
  
„I assumed you would tell me any moment, ma cherie." He still tried his best to sound disinterested. Alex, he should have known it was about him.  
  
„Well, I can assure you, he's not well at all. After the divorce... after your leaving..." She made a little pause to make sure her voice wouldn't fail her. „After you left he started drinking. But that's not all. He lost everything, because of you. He drinks, he gambles, but what's worse... alcohol wasn't enough... Alain, he's a drug addict now! Out of his mind the last times I saw him, ready to do anything for the next trip..." A very decorative tear found its way out of the corner of her left blue eye, running down her cheek at a slow, dramatic pace, careful not to ruin more of her make-up than necessary. A very pretty effect, as he acknowledged. This woman always had an impressive sense for a good drama.  
  
„So?" he asked again, now mildly curious. Alex used to be the more collected, more responsible one of them. It was interesting indeed, to imagine he could go down like this, just because of a few minor incidents in the past. From somewhere out of the room he thought to hear a subdued chuckle but a glance at his former secretary assured him she had missed the sound. He was still there.  
  
„So? You are... never mind. He disappeared almost a month ago. The same time those murders  started... first... New York...  Jersey... the Roosevelt Avenue double murder... Milltown, North Brunswick... finally... Washington..." Her mouth had become a thin, hard line while she was speaking; sadness, disgust and a faint hint of a lost love mixed with the sorrow in her face.  
  
But Spy shook his head.  
  
„Are you aware... do you know what you say? You link zose murders like zey were done by a serial killer. And you actually say zat it was _'im_?! What are you zinking, Shannon?" The power of the shock, the first real emotion he had felt for a while, was strong enough to almost overwhelm him. This was outrageous! All good and well, he wasn't a part of the family anymore, he didn't care for her and Alex, had stopped years ago, but this... no. Again, he heard Red, who obviously didn't try hard to keep quiet, fortunately Shannon was too busy with her own troubles to notice the laugh. Maybe she thought it came from her former boss and just chose to ignore it, who knew.  
  
„He has changed, Alain," she interrupted his thoughts, unusually gently speaking, like this would explain everything. „And don't forget, the three of us worked together for quite a while, even were related... I still know how to do my job, and as much as I hate it, I cannot hide from the truth..."  
  
„Ze truz you say..." he repeated thoughtfully, not liking those new revelations at all. „Anyway. What do you want from me?"  
  
„He is somewhere in this town, probably searching for you. And the police is after him..." She hesitated.  
  
„And you want me to find him first, before zey do and..." He continued for her and sat down in his chair again, turning around, watching his hands that lay on the desk now, wondering if he rather wanted a smoke or another drink. His mind was blank, a state he hated, it was not like him at all and he wished for a nice, pleasant distraction, maybe a physical...  
  
„Please, Alain..." Her imploring voice echoed in his head, for a second the only thing filling it and reluctantly, he nodded.  
  
„Thank you."  
  
Those were the last words he heard from her. She closed the door when she left and it was not until he was alone that he allowed himself to rest his head on his hands.  
  
Someone touched his shoulders. Spy had forgotten about him.  
  
„What a tragic story, mon ami," the still invisible man said with a sigh. „Bien, moi, I will be zere for you, you need my 'elp, n'est-ce pas? To find 'im, and my 'elp now, do you not?"  
  
„I don't know what you are talking about, Red. I am not in ze mood to be teased," the Spy replied, feeling tired, but the other Spy laughed.  
  
„Ah, dear Alain, zis strange reunion, it affected you a lot, ha! Do not lie, mon ami, I know you too well, and ze power of memory. See?" Unseen hands ran down his body and casually opened the button of his pants, slim, gloved fingers reached further down. Spy's sigh mixed with a low moan.  
„Oh, mon dear, 'andsome, selfish Spy," the voice whispered in his ear. „Even now, after being told about ze terrible fate of Alexandre, ze deeds and ze sufferings of your own dear brozer, all you can zink of is zis."  
  
* * *  
  
„Charming."  
The cigarette in the corner of his mouth, hands in the pockets of his pants, he looked at the once white, abandoned building in front of him. Broken windows answered his gaze like dead, black eyes... The wide, doorless opening yawned at him, a big, toothless mouth waiting for him to come in, not caring at all if he did or not.  
Spy was in a bad mood. The last few days he and his nightly visitor had been following various leads and clues, careful not to attract the attention of his teammates, as usual, a useless attempt. As stupid as he might thought them to be, they had a sense for things out of the ordinary, and soon he was in the focus of their curiosity. The fact that an unknown woman had insisted on meeting with their Spy couldn't be hidden from them, thanks to Soldier and a few more keen eyes; and of course everyone wanted to know what was up. An old friend? A lover? Or, as the Sniper had suggested, an irresistible job offer. Spot on with his damn instinct as always.  
Side jobs weren't regarded with much enthusiasm by their boss who had bought their skills and lives as long as they were under contract, a rule most of them didn't take too seriously. As long as everyone did break this rule nobody would inform the Administrator, and the Administrator wouldn't investigate without a good reason as long as they fulfilled their official assignments.  
  
Still, the mysterious Spy, the handsome rogue as who they saw him – he was sure about that - a mysterious woman, the late hour and his usual secrecy that was now overshadowed by a constant frown... all these things sounded too much like an adventure very much different from those jobs they had to do – they couldn't resist asking questions.  
After the second day his red counterpart was the most pleasant companion he had to deal with, compared to the rest of the bunch. Of course he wouldn't tell him. Those nightly visits used to be challenging, as Red was a man of wits, and relaxing, as he was a man of skill. The last few days he had come to appreciate the man's investigative talents as well - they were almost up to his own standard.  
But no matter how often Red tried to convince him that without his help, Spy wouldn't have found out his brother's hideout in a month, he refused to confirm this as a fact.  
  
They had found the address of the old asylum the night before, but had decided to wait until daylight. This part of the district was a world of its own, only abiding to its own laws.  
  
Like every morning of an assignment Spy followed his ritual, a few moments of simply enjoying himself, literally. The buttons of his shirt still open, he checked his image in the large mirror, taking in everything that was offered to his eyes – a tall, slim man in his early thirties, the sharp, handsome features of his face. He admired his almost black hair that still looked full and rich despite the mask he wore every day and night, except the few minutes under the shower. He smiled as he moved closer, inspecting his eyes – clever, proud eyes of clear, steel blue, with a hint of silvery grey. Still smiling, he put on the mask, the very symbol that changed Alain into Spy. This time, all he had to do was to ignore the dark shadows under his eyes and he knew - his looks matched his skill in any aspect. He was perfect. A genius. The best investigator the Administrator could hire for money, clever, a swift, efficient killer. The inventor of the cloaking device... And like every time, he lowly growled at this thought. That damned red Spy. That thief... But he was patient. Sooner or later, what belonged to him would be returned to him. A matter of time. For now, it was good, his close work with Red happened unnoticed by the others, nobody ever guessed that there was another Spy around most of the time of late.  
  
Today was a sunny day, a bit too warm for late October, despite the fresh wind blowing around him. He regretted his wrong choice of clothes - the long, thick overcoat was unnecessary, as was his scarf. The last few days had been cold, especially during the morning hours, but there he was, feeling uncomfortable in his beloved attire, disgusted when he realized that he had started to sweat.  
„Let's go!" he finally ordered, addressing no one in particular, as nobody else could be seen anywhere. This street always got busy at dusk, when people either preferred to hide in the shadows or stay away from them as far as they could.  
But Spy was sure, he wasn't alone. Red had been following him like a shadow the last days, no doubt he wouldn't miss the final part of their joint investigation.  
  
Once inside the building, a chill ran down his spine. He wasn't superstitious, had never been, but he knew this was a cursed, forlorn place - ghosts of a sad, cruel past lurked in all the corners... in the shadows. More than 10 years ago this had been a mental asylum of high renown, at a time when knives severed nerves and neural canals of a brain as quick and smooth as a bullet, at a time when pills were accompanied by electroshocks and many more scientific methods nobody wanted to know about. As long as the battle against restless, defying minds was won it didn't matter. Spy had never cared much about medicine or psychology - the morbid ideas of their team's Medic were proof enough that he was right to stay away from this stuff. Yet, even in all his ignorance, he couldn't fail to feel the cruelty that still lingered in the air and darker areas of the building.  
If everything Shannon had said about his brother was true... how ironic he would choose a place like this as a hideout. What an uneasy idea, to think about the fact that it was only half an hour's ride by car away from his own place. Spy wondered how long his brother had been hiding here, and how bad the state of his mind really was, if he could stand staying here for longer than a few hours.  
  
His footsteps echoed from the walls as he crossed the empty corridor, passing door by door, some closed, some open, some only hanging in one hinge. Either way he refused to look into those rooms, not caring what he might find there, as he told himself over and over again. Each door was made of metal, massive constructions, only a few of them had small, barred windows. A desolate place, now and back then. Dirt and dust covered his path, his shoes were leaving fresh imprints. He didn't need to look down, he knew there was another trail of shoes, the same size as his own, maybe only a few hours older than his. He listened to the sounds of his steps, wondering that he was still alone, no one else could be heard. Suddenly, he turned around, when a shadow moved and hid from his view. Or didn't it? Was he getting crazy, just by intruding this place's sleep? Still, no other noise, neither from man nor animal, and so he walked on, soon reaching the end of the long, narrow corridor. Refusing to hesitate, he opened the last door and entered.  
  
Tilting his head, he stared down at the two shapes on the ground at the other end of the room. Tables stood on the ground, most upside down like the many chairs, the usual dust mingled with the decayed, dried remains of rotten food – a cafeteria.  
Slowly, he walked up to the two men, his own eyes greeted by steel blue eyes, just with a hint of silvery grey.  
„Re..." he began in surprise, but stopped. This wasn't Red, and the lifeless figure on the floor wasn't his brother. No, his brother stared right back at him, his hand resting on the corpse of an unknown, unimportant stranger.  
  
„Alex." Calm, matter of factly.  
  
„Alain." The same voice, not unlike the one that whispered in his ear every night.  
  
For a moment, the twins looked at each other, exchanging countless old, unanswered questions that should still remain unspoken.  
  
„You look horrible, mon frère," Spy finally stated, wondering when his brother had changed his clothes for the last time. The man still wore his red jacket and a red tie, his favorite clothes, similar in its design to his own, but now the color had faded, and what still remained was hidden under a layer of dust and dried blood. The eyes almost as dull as those of the corpse, awkwardly large in this haggard face, more resembling a skull than the features of the once handsomest man Spy knew, besides himself.  
  
Alexandre laughed bitterly.  
  
„And whose fault is zis, my dearest brozer?" Almost gently, the man patted the dead stranger's chest. „After all... zat you did to me..."  
  
Now it was Spy's turn to laugh while he reached under his coat, slowly drawing his gun.  
  
„You zink it is fair to put all ze blame on me, Alex? I don't remember you said 'no'."  
„I did!" the kneeling man snarled, still focused on the Spy's face, ignoring the weapon that was slowly aimed at his head.  
  
„Oh, excuse-moi, mon chèr, between all zese 'yes, yes, more, yes, please don't stop' I must have missed zat petit 'non', je suis très desolé," he sarcastically hissed back. What was his brother thinking? Coming here, looking like this? Blaming him?  
  
„'ard to believe ze two of you used to look so much alike," a familiar voice whispered in his ear, and he felt a warm breath against his throat, through the fabric of his mask.  
  
„Shut up, Red. Zis is not ze brozer I used to know..." Spy replied slowly, his voice low, but Alexandre heard him, unable to place his twin's words.  
Red chuckled, obviously enjoying the sight.  
„But don't you agree, zere is still a certain beauty? Ze irresistible beauty of destruction..."  
„Taise-toi, Red!"  
  
„Who... are you talking... to?" His brother's confused face made Spy and the man behind him laugh.  
  
„Remember 'ow you laughed at me, Alex? When I told you my cloaking device would work one day, revolutionize our business as private investigators? I told you I can do it, but you..." he growled, enjoying his triumph, finally able to shove it into his brother's face.  „You called me an idiot, a dreamer, a self-conceited, vain fool. Non, you are ze fool... to zink I even want to share my success wiz you... But too bad, zis bastard here stole it..." He raised his arm, aiming for the spot between his brother's eyes, but the man was still calm, unimpressed by the Spy's speech.  
  
„Yes, of course, works, makes people invisible, now stolen..." Alexandre sighed, the pity in this sound annoyed the Spy.  
„Forget about zat. Alain. Why?"  
  
„Why what?"  
  
„Why didn't you love me like you were supposed to do? Why did you leave me?" His imploring voice reminded him a lot of the visit of his former sister-in-law, and he felt disgusted. He, the Spy, would never talk like this, this weak, this subdued. What a shame. No, not a shame, an insult. How could his brother dare to look that pathetic with the face that, even now, clearly resembled his own?  
  
„Why did you tell your sweet wife about us? You knew 'ow zat old 'ag would react. You betrayed me! You used to say blood is zicker zan water, non? You destroyed everzing. I would never..."  
  
„Zis is ze point, non, mon frère? You left me because I wasn't like you, n'est-ce pas?"  
  
But before Spy could answer, he heard another noise, not coming from Red this time. Through one of the broken windows the sound of several police cars came in and filled the small, desolate hall.  
  
Spy released the safety hatch of his gun.  
  
„Zey are coming for me," was all his brother said, without a hint of fear or regret.  
  
„You know what zat means, do you not?" He was surprised by the gentle tone of his own voice.  
  
„Mais oui, of course. Trials. Jail. And in ze end – ze Mercy Seat." The way he talked about this was disturbing, how could he accept the facts so easily? Where was his pride?  
Spy was even more confused when the broken man smiled at him.  
„What are you going to do, mon frère? Do you turn me in? Or do you, maybe for ze first time in your life, behave like a brozer should do?"  
  
Spy didn't even realize he was smiling back, an identical smile from a once identical face, identical pairs of eyes meeting.  
  
„Charity begins at 'ome, as zey say, non?"  For another moment he looked at his lost twin brother.  
  
„Alain, did you ever love me?"  
  
„Yes."  
  
Alexandre gave a low laugh, closing his eyes the moment Spy pulled the trigger.  
  
„Liar," was his last word before the bullet broke the layer of skull between his eyes and before it left at the back of his head, it was over. Not even watching the dead body falling to the ground, Spy had turned around and left, hearing the distinctive sound of his cloaking-device when Red became visible next to him.  
  
„Why did you shoot 'im? You should 'ave fucked 'im. Zat's what you wanted to do anyway, non?" The easygoing attitude of his red companion was unnerving.  
  
„Mais oui. Ze 'usband of my former secretary, a drug addicted serial killer. My twin brozer. In zis forsaken place, wiz half a dozen of police cars waiting outside. Very romantic I must say," he retorted currishly without looking at the other Spy.  
  
„Alors, most of zis didn't stop you from doing so in ze past. Besides, it never occurred to me zat zis relationship of yours was a romantic one,"  Red mocked him.  
  
„'e was a nutcase."  
  
„Oh, come on, mon ami, you know it takes one to know one. Birds of a feazer."  
  
„You are a nutcase too, Red. An annoying one, zat is."  
  
He could literally hear the red Spy grin at this.  
„A merveille! Doesn't zat make us a big, 'appy family of soul-mates?"  
  
„Red, just shut ze fuck up, zank you."  
  
* * *  
  
Like every evening, he sat in his leather chair at his oak desk, cold smoke from too many cigarettes clouded the air as he refused to open the window. He bent over a sheet of paper, trying to find the right words for the letter he was writing. Next to him, a glass filled with cognac, the bottle empty. His right hand played with the pen.  
For the second time today he heard a 'swoosh' behind him, Red was back, looking over his shoulder.  
  
„Can I 'ave back my device?" Spy growled impatiently, not interested in his visitor at all today.  
  
„Why? You could not make it work anyway," Red answered casually, putting his right hand on Spy's shoulder.  
„Alain, don't you zink it is time you say my name?" This seriousness was unusual.  
  
„Red."  
  
„You and I know zat is not my name, Alain."  
„You are Red, and you are a Spy, like me. Zat's all I 'ave to say," Spy snapped, stubborn and annoyed. What was this all about, all of a sudden? Things were fine as they were.  
  
„You know who and what I am."  
  
„Yes, you are ze zief who stole my cloaking-device, ze only working..."  
  
„Do you really zink, if any of zis were ze truz, zat a brilliant man like you would leave zis only exemplar lying around? Wiz ze instructions how to build it? And boz of us know, I could never give somezing like zis to you. Zis is not possible, everyone, including Alexandre, knew that. You failed, Alain."  
  
From his left, he heard the clicking sound of a butterfly knife and sighed. Alex had been left-handed, too. Although he found it difficult to focus, he tried to continue his letter.  
  
„It's about time to stop zis, Alain." Red bent forward and took the pen from Spy's hand.  
With a sigh, the Spy leaned back, closing his eyes when the hand went deeper, to open the button of his pants, like every evening. He shoved his groin against the apt hand, while he thought about Red, his device, his past. He imagined the eyes of his brother, as he remembered him from five years ago, and groaned.  
  
„Who do you love more, mon amour, me or 'im?"  
  
„Very confident to ask such a question." He enjoyed the sweet, throbbing pain, knowing release was close.  
  
„Yes. Because I know ze answer. Zere 'as only been room for one person in your 'eart. I am ze only one you ever loved, your whole life. When you looked into ze mirror, when you marveled at your own skill and cleverness, when you fucked your twin brozer while 'e screamed your name..."  
  
„My name..."  
  
„Yes, my name."  
  
He felt the cold, sharp steel against the skin of his throat while the movement of his hand increased. His left hand trembled a bit.  
  
„I zink you should end it."  
  
„I zink I should end it." The knife cut deeper, warm, red blood rushed down his chest, staining his suit, but he didn't care.  
  
„Say my name, Alain." The last demand.  
  
„Alain." The last answer.  
  
The release of lust making way for the eternal release.  
  
* * *  
  
„Ugh! Craaaap!" Scout stared at the dead body in disgust. „Man, what was wrong with Frogs anyway?"  
  
Behind him, the Engineer and Demoman were busy removing the pieces of the broken up door. Heavy's work. They usually didn't interfere with their Spy's business, but when they hadn't seen him for three days Soldier had decided to find out what was going on. When no one answered their knocking, breaking in was the only option.  
The Medic looked closely at the body first, then the table, frowning.  
  
„Say, Herr Soldier, zhe Spy vas left handed, vasn't he?"  
  
The American shrugged. „Yes, I think he was, why?"  
  
„I just vonder... I remember his handvriting, it never vas zhis messy. And zhe pen is lying on zhe vrong side..."  
  
„Yeah, and his right hand still holds his... Yuck!" Scout pulled a face. „What was he doing, jerkin' off while somebody killed him?"  
  
„No, Scout, I don't zhink so... he still holds his knife in his left hand... Besides, nobody could leave zhe room, it vas locked from inside. Right, Herr Engineer?"  
  
„Yeah, ya right, Sherlock. That's gonna be a fine piece of work, to repair this... thank ya, Heavy."  
  
The Russian laughed. „This is no thing to thank me, tiny Engineer. To help I like."  
  
Both men laughed, and the Demoman joined them. Death was their business, and the Spy had never been a very popular member of the team, so his death didn't affect anyone much, although the circumstances were quite grotesque.  
  
„Whoa, wait, Doc. Ya sayin' first, he wrote that fuckin' letter with his wrong hand." Scout lifted his index finger, adding the middle and ring finger as he continued. „Then he jerked off while Mr. 'Ego squared' slit his own throat?!"  
  
The Medic nodded.  
„I know how strange zhis sounds, Scout. But zhis is vhat obviously happened."  
  
With a grimace of revulsion, Scout looked again at the back of the dead man.  
„Seriously, man, that's just twisted..."

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Oui, non, petit => yes, no, small/tiny
> 
> mais => but
> 
> n'est-ce pas? = isn't that right?
> 
> Chut! = Psst!
> 
> je suis très desolé = I'm sooo sorry
> 
> Taise-toi! = shut up!
> 
> A merveille! = How wonderful!


End file.
